Tears for a Tormentor

Old man walks through a cemetery

We see the stone, he falls to his knees

Fingers claw the grass as tears fall

The picture of despair, he holds his head

I look at him

The dead man would always hurt him

Why then, so much grief?

I would not respect a monster so much

I always think of the two men, living and dead

The living man would always hurt me

He took my childhood, my desire for life

But I think of what he did for his tormentor

And I wonder,

When he’s dead

Will I do the same?